Waya
by Represent
Summary: Roy Mustang and his crew land at the New World completely unprepared for winter, the inhospitable locals, the native wildlife, and the unconquerable land. His men, starving and half out of their minds are fading fast - and he can't help but feel as if he's being constantly shadowed by a pair of haunting gold eyes. Alternate Universe, RoyEd
1. A Prophesy

**Waya**

_Represent_

* * *

A unnatural blond head ducked, toes curled along the edge of the rock, far below him a river churning, all around him silent sentinels, their branches bending precariously with the impending wind. A storm would hit in hours, he sniffed, there was no doubt in his mind it would be a big one. He had been to this place many times before but everything had changed. A voice drifted through his head and he remembered when he had been younger, what the Elder had said to him. The young man had no doubt in his heart now that her words had come to pass.

_You have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour. Now you must back and tell the people that this is The Hour. And now there are things to be considered. It is time to speak your Truth, be good to each other, and do not look outside yourself for the leader. This could be a good time._

He didn't understand her then, premonitions were rare, ones that came true even rarer. She had grabbed him by his pale arm, her wrinkled hand knarled like weathered oak and skin peeling like dried birch bark - he must have been six - and had spoke to the child urgently. She had never known, would never truly know. She had foreseen, given some kind of warning, it wasn't until his family was dead and his home was being destroyed that he realized the full implications of what she had told him. Warned him.

His eyes peered down, down into the river. It was fast and swirling underneath him, faster than it had ever gone before in all his sixteen winters. Moving, rapidly, towards some unseen destination in a panicked rush that created a cold steam to rise among the canyon, a brutal unforgiving hiss that never ended, never took a breath. A breeze whipped across the sharp cheekbones of his face, and it was colder and harsher than any other spring. Her words wash over him once more, his taut lips whispered them into the wind as it violently struck his face, bruising his already pinkened cheek:

"_There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel that they are being torn apart, and they will suffer greatly._"

He felt the panic well up inside him, seeing the great wooden vessels approaching the shoreline in the distance a month before, the people that had barged in and had frightened many of his tribe. They had burned parts of the forest down, chopped and clawed their way in, and like barbs planted their feet into the soil and staked their claim, burned his village and sent several of his people to seek refuge by leaping in the river. They have been missing for days. Not that it was truly _his_ people anymore, or had they ever truly been _his_ people? He had been driven out of the tribe for several months before the intruders came.

However, they were still bonded, by a common enemy. And despite the fact that many of them had treated him very cruelly in the past, the fact that he had known, on some level, the coming of these new creatures, made him feel guilty for not warning them of it before it had come to pass. Even if they perhaps would have not believed him.

He could almost feel her bony hand on his arm. He had been six and he had cried. _How she had scared him._ Her fingernails had ripped into his abnormally pale skin, and her breath had smelled something foul. He had bawled in fright as she shook him to the point where his neck throbbed, trying to get him to listen.

"Listen, _Waya_!" She had hissed, shaking his thin shoulders, his toddler hands wildly flopping from side to side and her lips near his ear, breath puffing out locks of his white hair. She had always called him Waya. The blond hadn't been granted a name by his tribe; he had never been given the chance to earn one, having been kicked out before being able to prove his own manhood. She had given him one though and, despite the meaning, he had clung to it as a proof of his own worth.

_Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water. Do you hear me?_

"Yes!" He had sobbed, tears rolling down chubby blotchy cheeks.

_Keep your head above the water, Waya!_

"I will! I will!" He had tried to wrestle out of her grip but her fingernails scratched deeper into his skin and she had only pulled him closer, shushing him viciously. He and everyone else in the tribe had always avoided her, been terrified of her. She was like the witch that all the little kids heard boiled up children and ate them. They said she was really a raven, dressed in human clothes, sent to lead us astray. He had been was convinced her ramblings were only the prelude to his own demise and he had been terrified.

But he had been six. And as custom to his age he hadn't listened to her, he had been childish, a perpetually frightened baby. But it was nothing compared to this, to people that could kill you with noise, people that spoke with hisses and wore shining plates on their chests and heads that their arrows couldn't penetrate.

His eyes blinked slowly, still standing on the edge of the tall precipice, one gust of wind could perhaps end the boy's life. He had stood here several times before, when he had been beaten by boys his own age, when he had run away from home. The blond had contemplated jumping both times.

The eyes closed, covering up unnatural gold with even more foreign pale blond eyelashes. His skin was as white as the sails of their ships. He had seen them from close up and he looked like one of them. It frightened him, scared him, and had struck his tribe. They had hoarded the boy inside with them when the white people first came, convinced that they were here to claim him and take him back and - more importantly - to punish them for how they had treated him.

He breathed evenly, taking in the crisp morning air for a long moment. The water seemed small and powerless so far beneath his feet. He could almost convince himself that it was would just be a short swim.

_At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally. Least of all, ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt._

"_The time of the lone wolf is over_." He reminded himself, quoting her. How had she known? , "_All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration, for we are the ones we have been waiting for._"

He glanced up as he finished her premonition, at the giant ships and the smoke from the settlement, "We are the ones we have been waiting for." He repeated, still not understanding what she had meant. She would tell him this, whisper it to him when he was having dinner and his mother was out gathering food. '_We are the ones we have been waiting for_' or 'T_he time of the lone wolf is over, Waya._'

Was this what she had meant? Had she foreseen his death? How was it possible to know of something happening like this? Had he known all along and hadn't told anyone? Were these people actually his family, did he finally belong? Was he meant to return with them, as his tribe believed? For some reason he felt more miserable than ever before. Contemplated jumping off this cliff into the river harder than he had ever done before. Because for all the times that he had been pushed away and told he was worthless, for all the times that he didn't fit in - it was much worse to have a place, but have no choice.

He felt much worse now, thinking that he could be one of them. He felt tears slip from his eyes, grating down his cheeks like glaciers, he felt cold inside. At least when he had run from his tribe to a new place, the forest, it had been a place he was content with belonging to. All his life had been dictated by what his people foretold would happen to him - perhaps the Elder was right in some sense. Perhaps the river was his final destiny. Maybe even his own death he had no control over.

_Keep your head above the water, Waya. __The time of the lone wolf is over._

He gave a soft sob, the image of the water below growing watery with the water in his own eyes until it looked like he imagine drowning in air would look like.

What did she mean? Why had she told him? How was he somehow worthy of retaining this prophecy? How had she known his connection with the wolves? He had told no one, convinced that if people knew what he was could do he would have been executed. But she had merely smiled at a six year old boy called him out for what he truly was years before he would ever discovered it for himself. _Waya, waya, waya._

He gave a loud breath, not paying attention to anything but his internal panic. As he paced the edge of the ledge he ran his hands down the sides of his exposed pale arms and gave soft whines as tears slipped from his eyes, spiraling and flailing down the ravine to be eaten by the river. Bare feet padded back and forth and back and forth, torn between flinging himself off or staying and allowing the tribe to present him to the new comers in hopes of making them leave. He didn't want to be presented. He didn't even want to be around humans. He realized this with a sharp pang. Perhaps he didn't belong with humans.

The boy gave a soft indecisive moan, stilling once more on the edge of the ledge.

After several minutes of indecision he wondered who he was trying to kid. He had thought that three times would have been the charm, and that by now he would have had the guts to actually just do it already, but he was a coward at heart and he wanted to live. With a soft growl he slammed his hands into his face, wiping the tears off angrily and letting his slender fingers entangle themselves in his loose hair, giving a sharp painful tug of resentment on them.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck…" He whispered like a mantra of expletives in his own language under his breath, feeling his body go weak with the realization he couldn't do it. And just before he was about to let his knees give way and sit down on the edge of the ledge to take in the ever darkening sky he saw a flicker of movement in the chasm below. A deer perhaps?

No- A man, he corrected, tensing instantly and with a graceful movement he found himself partially hidden behind a solid pine trunk. He swiped his long hair out of his face before braving to peer down off the ledge, certain that the human hadn't enough common sense to look above him. It was one thing that these new foreigners were still attempting to learn - something that his people took advantage of as they crouched for hours on end (his people were very patient) waiting for a white one to come along before raining down an arrow like a soft sigh through the tops of their heads.

This one looked just as out of his element as all the rest. He was currently trying to figure out the best way to get around a fallen log without getting his feet dirty. The blond watched curiously as the endeavor seemed to take the white one a great deal of time and energy. However, unlike his companions his hair was dark, blending into the shadows around him and making him difficult to track. Most of the white ones had hair like his. He rubbed the strands of platinum together, always a curse for sneaking as it glowed - especially in the moonlight, giving him away.

The boy slowly knew he should be running away. After all, these people had weapons that seemed to invoke the gods, shining rods of thunder that - from miles away - could stop one of his own in their tracks. Their ships alone were impressive, and something that the boy had noticed about these newcomers was their intense obsession with size. Their encampment churned and bellowed smoke, large enough to house hundreds although the boy heard from his tribe that there were only about thirty of them and they were dying off in numbers from the cold. He wondered if these new people had ever taken into account the weather, because as he watched the dark-haired one below, he could see his useless clothing was damp from the perpetual mist that clung and kissed everything solid until it turned moldy and unusable. Even as he crouched along the pine tree and leaned a little closer the movements the foreigner took were clumsy and uncertain, his head kept darting around, hand taught and at his side where the boy assumed a weapon was tucked. He was right to be so vigilant. The woods didn't only house his people, but other dangers as well.

The blond eyes narrowed slowly into feral slits before he climbed his way stealthily down the ledge to a landing several yards away from the man. He was curious, having never seen one up close. Already he could smell that the tangy scent that almost smelled like blood didn't cling off the other, meaning he wasn't carrying one of the noisy weapons. The boy knew he could take his chances in a fist fight, and even against a knife.

But, he was curious as to how they were similar. No one had as pale of skin as himself. But - as he crouched behind the underbrush and fern he could see how the sun glinted off of this man's skin. He had to be even paler than the boy was! Golden eyes blinked in astonishment and for a moment he didn't feel like half the abomination his dark-skinned brothers had convinced him of.

The man paused then, stiffly sitting up from where he had been attempting to refill canteens of water from the river. The blond could almost see the hair rising on the back of his neck as he turned to face where the boy was hiding.

"Man haathaa?" He asked, the language strange, but the message clear: Who's there? There was no way he could have heard him, he hadn't made a sound. The blond froze and held his breath, having underestimated this man's ability to pay attention to the cues of the forest. It was like the black-haired one had some kind of six sense that his other companions lacked.

There was a long extended moment where the boy didn't shift his gaze off of the man's face, committing the angular cheekbones and pitch black eyes to memory - finding them much too intelligent for comfort, before the man gave an unsettled sigh and mumbled something to himself and set off to his task of filling the canteen.

A smile twitched on the corner of the blond's lips as the man almost pitched into the river. No doubt he would die if he plunged into its depths - it had been what the boy had been banking on only minutes before. The irony of the image of this man accidentally killing himself when he had been so intent on intentionally doing so was almost too much.

He knew he should be getting back to his people now - he had put himself in the line of danger for far too long than was smart. He blamed his recklessness on his inability to care about his own personal safety, but really, he liked to study these people. And this one was of particular interest, in the way that he had sensed the other, and the way that his face had the same flat nose and high cheekbones of the blond's darker-skinned brothers. It was a confusing paradox, that he resembled the two different tribes. He reminded the boy of himself in that front and perhaps that's why he was so intent to wait. Or maybe the boy just wanted to see if the dark-haired one was going to get swallowed up by the river in his clumsiness.

With a sharp pang, he had the realization that he didn't want that.

He watched as the man finished filling up the canteens with minimal slipping and then steadied himself on the bank of the river, before - will less preparation and regards for his feet, he hurried in an almost jog from the bank back the way he came, looking over his shoulder as he went.

The blond gave a sigh, excitement over, plucking himself out from where he had been hiding and with much more elegance than the foreigner, wound his way through the wounds as if in a dance - partnered with the branches and the trees in harmony - padding and making no noise, as he made his way back to his village.

* * *

"This place gives me the creeps." Roy muttered as he dumped the heavy canteens filled with river water into the makeshift encampment, "It feels like I'm constantly being watched."

Breda and Havoc both glanced up from where they were huddled around a log, playing cards.

"Yeah, boss. That's why I asked you to get the water instead of me. That river is creepy - who knows what indians could be lurking there." Havoc stated cheekily, giving a grin so wide it almost made the sliver of wood he always chewed on fall out of his lips, "Can't believe you don't take a gun with you."

"How your teeth don't fall out is a mystery to me." Mustang muttered, pulling off his wet shoes with a _squelch, _and collapsing with a defeated noise onto the chair across the room. "And anyways, the water is heavy enough to carry without a rifle."

They had been here for about a month and a week, enough time to build a fence and several buildings to sleep in out of the abundance of timber that this new land had to offer. Mustang honestly didn't know what he had been getting himself into when he offered to pilot the expedition - only that fame and money was in store if they ended up finding anything of real significance. So far the only things they had found was a mysterious land that seemed to live and breath on its own, a perpetual fog that made everything damp and miserably slick, a night filled with the howls of what Roy could only assume were wolves that made sleep impossible, a hoard of angry savages hell-bent to dig their arrows and spears into their backs, and lots and lots of impossibly immense trees.

The land itself was wild and untamed, the animals in it were silent and lurking. Feury was still days behind detailing all the new species they had encountered. It was like another world, something that was far different from anything Mustang had ever encountered. The thickness of the air and the trees itself made movement heavy and nearly impossible. The moss seemed to sink into their clothing and the rain pelted down constantly. There had only been one brief slice of sky, and like God was taking a moment to laugh at them, a cloud would move frighteningly fast across the canvas and cover it from view again. Roy expected that if he had the misfortune to live inside one of the snow globes they made back in England this would be what it would feel like. A perpetual wet cloudy unescapable hell.

And he hated rain. He didn't do well in rain. He had spent most of his time in Egypt - his true home - before promises of wealth and fortune and adventure had propelled him northwestward along the trade routes. Deserts he could handle. Mud up to his ankles he couldn't handle.

It was hard to have some semblance of order in a place like this - something that Mustang prized. But civility was limited by the fact that they were living in huts and nearly starving. The last deer that they had felled had been three days ago - thanks to Havoc. Jean seemed to be the only one that was quiet enough and coordinated enough to get close enough to a deer - he wasn't a very good shot though and would often come back after unloading three rounds in frustration, empty-handed, only to get a curt warning to save his ammunition. The conditions were already putting everyone on edge. Things that Mustang had planned for, but hadn't really _planned_ for - like where to put garbage, or where to use the bathroom, were all issues that had to be tackled quickly lest they die of their own filth.

And the indians - from the moment they had landed it had been nothing but tenuous relations. Strained enough as it was, when Havoc had fired a warning shot with his rifle it had spooked them into retaliation. Since then no indian had come near the encampment, making a peace agreement or even some semblance of communication impossible. Instead the indians had been driven further away by the men's chopping of wood.

Roy's eyes scanned the already muddy floor of the shack, before flicking up to the steady stream of water leaking through a joint in the log holding up the ceiling and he sighed. If this rain ever let up maybe they could rebuild and make repairs but they had been almost frozen in time, waiting for the rain to stop so they could set up camp properly - finding it never did.

There was a _whoosh_ before Hughes stepped into the room, pulling back the canvas door that did little to block out the wind.

"Ah your back." He noted, pushing his glasses up his nose for a moment, "I want to talk to you about those wolves."

"Havoc, Breda - Give us a minute." Roy intoned, watching as they got up and collected their cards, mumbling underneath their breathes. This building was the least wet of the others.

"I've been trying to calculate where they are, but they move every night." Hughes continued, settling onto the log as Mustang took up the other side of it. For weeks the wolves had been of growing concern, to the point where they were scaring the men more than the indians. At night their cries would ring through the base as if they were right outside the doors, howling to get in. Roy know logically it was because they were at up on a hill overlooking a large ravine, in which a river ran, making noise bounce back and forth between the two mountains - magnifying the sound. However, the men had been getting restless and superstitious.

"I am, however, fairly confident that they move every night - and that they have been getting closer the past two nights."

Roy frowned, "Are you sure?"

Hughes sighed, "Of course not. This place doesn't seem to make any logical sense - but, to me it seems to be the case. We probably camped on their territory and while they were too afraid of us for the first three weeks, they're getting braver."

They had never actually seen any of these wolves - they only made themselves known at night. Mustang had never heard such vocal wolves before, and just like everything else in this land he expected they were senselessly larger than their English counterparts. Even the trees seemed to tower over them at epic heights that only served to make the men feel more crushed and vulnerable.

"I'm suggesting that we up the watch at night, two men instead of one." Hughes continued after a moment. "Who knows how aggressive these wolves are. Maybe if we fell one the people here will stop sniveling about this place. And we'd have something to eat." He grinned, but Roy could see how his eyes sparked at the thought of meat. They had been eating the minuscule amounts of their rations they had from the voyage over, but that would run out in a week or two. The plan had been to find food in the new land - they hadn't been expecting how foreign all the plant life was here. Already one of their men had eaten berries and poisoned himself. They were way out of their element and although Mustang didn't want to admit it - everyone, even him, was a little terrified as to how this would all play out.

* * *

The boy blew some of the wet strands out of his hair - the continuous stream of spit that came from above didn't seem to bother him. His eyes flicked up to the small columns of smoke and the soft noise of civilization. His people. And, with a small sigh, he circumnavigated around the encampment, determined to not be noticed lest he be hassled.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door to his own extremely modest home - something that they hadn't stripped him of, yet, and reveled in the warmth inside.

It was made up of a pile of furs to sleep in in the corner nearest the fire pit that sat in the middle, and a mixture of pots lined around the outside from his breakfast. He's other belongings and food storage lined the side of the wall. The fire was barely alive, smoke lazily getting wafted out of a vent at the top of the hut.

He peeled out of his damp clothes, setting them next to a simmering fire before falling down against the different animal hides, pressing his wind-chapped check onto the soft fur as he stoked the fire lazily with one hand. His home was far enough away from the encampment that only the more adventurous kids ventured out to see him. He was somewhat of an oddity. Although his brother had been the same. A pang echoed through his chest at the thought of his brother and he swallowed for a moment. He hadn't always felt so alone before. But, after his mother died, and the Elder had disappeared there had been no one to defend him - a ten year old.

His thoughts drifted back to the man he had watched earlier, and the settlement he had only seen from a far distance. He knew it had upset the wolves, greatly. He could hear their outraged and confused cries at night, loud enough to sound muffled, even far up here where the rain hardened into almost-snow. He pulled his damp hair out of his face and tugged on dry clothes.

Was he really like the white-skinned newcomers?

He frowned, poking at the fire. He had been to afraid to approach the man. Every effort his people had made to get close had backfired, ending in death and more anger on both sides. The lack of communication between them had only exacerbated the situation, and like how the boy was doing right now, stoked a fire that was getting larger and larger until it would swallow them. If the river didn't first.

"Keep your head above the water…" He muttered to himself, shaking his head. He wished he had listened to her more closely when he had been younger. He wasn't sure his addled six-year-old memory was accurate, had she really said keep your head above the water, or father? He sighed in frustration at himself. If only she hadn't shaken him so much. If only she was still here, she would know what he was supposed to do. As it was he felt torn, deeply afraid of the newcomers, but somehow feeling a sense of belonging through their shared skin color.

He reached out his arms, comparing them side to side. One was had always been slightly darker, freckles dotting his hands, but the pale color betrayed him to his own people. If they didn't trust him before - how would he ever be accepted after people came that looked like him ruined their home?

"_Waya._" He whispered to himself, the only name he had ever been given, flexing his fingers slowly before keeping them into a fist and twisting them around in the light. The flickers of the fire dancing along his skin casting light off, reflecting in the molten gold of his eyes. Perhaps it was the reason he was so curious of the newcomers instead of angry - because the other half of him listened at night and felt the wolves. They weren't afraid of the foreigners, not like his people were. They were curious more than anything else.

And so with a small sigh he settled for the night into his small hut - exiled from the rest of the group. But, as the howls started to pick up, twirling and cutting in and out of the wind so he wasn't sure when the wind started and the wolves began, he felt less lonely. He hadn't thought that he would make it back to this place tonight - having fully intended to fling himself off that cliff when the realization that he was going to get turned over to the foreigners soon was too much. But maybe, just maybe, he thought, being turned over to them wouldn't be so bad.

At least, the dark-haired one seemed harmless.

He relaxed his fists slowly and sunk bank into the furs, letting them entangle him. For the first time in a long time he fell asleep to the wolves' haunting lullaby.


	2. A New Companion

**Waya**

_Represent_

For weeks his men had survived off of rationing bark and what little plants could grow in the constantly muddy ground. Roy had soon realized that they were on the verge of winter, the rain had started to solidify and the river had begun to freeze. Walking through the woods was more perilous than before and the temperature had plummeted coating them all in a thick layer of ice. Almost all the plants they had brought would soon be dead and Roy realized that there were only a handful of animals that still roamed the forests with their usual vigor instead of hibernating for the winter, meaning their stock of animal meat had started to dwindle.

However last night Havoc had come back, guns blazing, saying he had got one - a wolf. He was certain he had shot it, but it hadn't been fatally wounded - at least not at first, because it had took off, terrified into the woods leaving Havoc without any sort of proof or meat. But the wolves had been even louder last night as if in outrage or mourning, and Roy assumed that Jean had been telling the truth.

Havoc had described it as white, and humongous. That it was blood thirsty, and would have attacked him had he not shot it.

The fact that they could be wounded had dispelled a lot of fear from the men. If Havoc could take down a wolf it meant they were tangible, they were real. For as long as they had been camping here they had never actually witnessed one, the only thing that told them of their existence was their echoing cries all night long.

Of course, the winter didn't slow them down. They were creatures of cold and of darkness. If anything it seemed like they had been gathering in more numbers.

Roy frowned to himself as he moved about the immense trees. The pine didn't shed, even in the cold, and so the forest was just as thick and immovable as before. The cold wasn't something Roy could deal with. Already his chest was tight and the wetness that was pervasive all around him and sunk into his lungs, developing a nasty cough. He slipped around on the icy rocks and wet fallen branches, lugging along the empty canteens. Part of his daily ritual was to get water.

The feeling that he was being watched wasn't as intense today as it usually was. Roy was convinced he was being stalked by the wolves, especially when he took this excursion to get the canteens. Still, he didn't arm himself with a rifle. He didn't like them as much as his knives. Guns were loud, and they were impersonal. You didn't truly understand what it meant to take away a life with them. The men were careless in their usage of them. Roy felt as if he was the only one sometimes that was greatly saddened by the sight of something as majestic as a moose being brought down by a single bullet. You felt the bloodshed, you knew what you were taking with knives. As it should be.

As he trudged towards the spot where Havoc had said he had been approached by the wolf he paused, looking around the small clearing.

His eyes narrowed as he took in the depressed footprints that he assumed was where Havoc had been standing, and it didn't take long to find the blood splatter across the trunk of a slender pine about ten feet away. So he hadn't been lying after all, and he had shot the wolf.

Roy paused, debating to follow the trail, or to just get the water.

He wondered if the wolf was dead by now, knowing that bringing back the body of it would give them meat for the next few days - he was certain that the freezing temperature would have preserved the body, if another animal hadn't feasted on it first. The felling of a wolf would also make the men's morale higher. The wolves were pervasive, they mocked them all night long and had turned into something of a nightmare. To see that they could be felled would be good for the men.

With a heavy sigh, he placed the canteens down against a tree and looked around, before making up his mind and clumsily following the blood trail where the wolf had fled the night before.

For about an hour he trudged along, starting to get nervous. He was certainly lost by this point, with only the trail of blood to follow to find his way back, and he knew he was getting dangerously close to the shaky territorial line that his men and the indians had respected for the past month or so. They hadn't had any contact with them, and Roy was hoping to keep it that way.

Just when he was considering turning around and heading back he saw it.

It was bright white, just like Havoc had said, only it was small. Only the size of a moderately large dog. It was collapsed in on itself, its head halfway submerged in a puddle of water where its tongue was lolled out. It seemed to be either dead or passed out mid-drink. Passed out, Roy corrected, seeing the barely-there rise and fall of its chest. Its eyes were closed and there was a bright red stain from where the bullet had lodged through its upper shoulder. Roy winced, drawing out his knife.

He should just end its life, he knew, it would be the merciful thing to do.

He slowly approached the wild dog, pretty certain that it was too far gone with blood loss to be much of a threat anymore. As he got closer he began to take in the details of the creature. It was beautiful, really, Roy thought to himself. Slender and muscular at the same time. Its fur looked soft, but Roy knew it was rugged, thick enough to block out all the cold. Its forepaws were gracefully tucked underneath its body as if it had tried to curl into itself in agony. A sudden pang of sympathy overcame him. This wolf, while certainly capable of killing him, was striking. And so, entranced, Roy crouched down a foot away from it and knife still in hand, moved to touch it on its side.

The wolf gave no reaction, and, cautiously Roy let his fingers slide into the thick fur. It was the closest he had ever been to something alive in these woods, something that reeked of mystery and danger. And then, the creature shifted, a long drawn out whine pulling from its lips. It sounded like his dog, from back home, had on its last few days of life. Roy frowned softly. He should do it now, slice its throat. He prepared to, gripped his knife in his hand and placed it against the throat. The gusts of sickly breath were panting out of its mouth now, tongue still unmoving, and just as Roy went to end it, its eyes flicked open and stared back at him.

Roy froze, unable to breathe for a moment. It's eyes were goddamn unnerving. Two pinpricks, pupils contracted, much too intelligent, knowing. They looked at him like, _kill me. I dare you, just end it._ And Roy found he couldn't. He dropped the knife and instead tore apart his pant leg, pulling the fabric quickly around the animal before it could gain enough awareness to try and attack him. He tightened it around the still oozing wound and the pain of it seemed to snap the wolf into clarity. It gave a sharp bark and snapped at him, Roy recoiling fast enough to avoid loosing a hand.

"Whoah." He murmured, trying to calm it down as it attempted to get up, forcing its paws out from underneath itself and struggling upright, swaying drunkenly for a long moment. It released a sinister warning, its muzzle wrinkling as it growled lowly at him, but the growl seemed to lack the same kind of tenacity that it would have had at full health. Standing the wolf was to his hipbone, its legs were longer than Roy had previously judged. With its head fully upright it could possible make it to his elbow. However as quickly as the strength had flooded into the beast it quickly left. The white wolf took one step before collapsing back onto the ground, and it belted out a ringing howl that echoed through the wood making Roy shiver, certainly alerting to other wolves nearby what was going on. Roy knew he should have killed it when he had the chance. He cursed softly, waiting for arrows to pour through is body at any second or a pack of wolves larger than this one to descend to tear out his bowels. But, the forest was still, and the wolf in question had closed its eyes again in pain, giving a few terrible sounded heaves in which its whole body contracted and Roy could see the strain of each powerful muscle in its body as it tried to throw up bile.

He always had a weakness for dogs.

After waiting for a long moment Roy deemed it safe enough to try and help it again. He knew that this was a wolf, not a dog, and he was sure that in the end this was going to bite him in the ass - possibly quite literally - but for some reason seeing a creature as beautiful as this being reduced to a heaving mess didn't settle right with him.

He quickly took another bit of fabric and covered up the eyes, trying to touch the wolves' head as little as possible to avoid the teeth. Its ears flicked back and forth, before training on him, but the wolf didn't move again. The ears were enough of an indication to Roy that it was still semi-aware. How it hadn't already died from bloodloss was a mystery to him.

He then tied the last bit of cloth around its mouth, knotting it several times. He knew that if the wolf had been healthy this fabric wouldn't stop it from chewing through his artery, but seeing as it couldn't even stand, he didn't think it would have the strength to bite through it.

"What am I doing?" He asked himself for a long moment, before slipping his arms underneath his new mysterious companion and hefting it upright. It wasn't as heavy as he had expected. He- Roy corrected himself, seeing as he lifted the creature up that it was indeed male. Most of the bones and muscles were small, hidden underneath impressive amounts of fur. The dog had a distinct earthy smell to it. Not unpleasant, Roy noted. It suddenly shifted, giving a terrified whine, and started to tremble, and Roy realized that it was smart enough to know what was going on to a certain extent. That he was a human, that it had been shot by a human, and the connection between the two were enough to make its limbs rattle. No matter how much Roy tried to soothe it as he picked his way back, following the blood, the wolf continued to let out desperate low whimpers. It was horrified, Roy realized. The wolves were more terrified of them than anything. Roy felt like a piece of shit at the thought that they had considered the wolves their biggest enemy.

This one certainly didn't want to have any contact with them. Havoc's story about it being aggressive towards him seemed embellished at this point, as the only time this wolf had tried to attack him had been when Roy had come too close. Even now, with Roy's arms wrapped tightly around it, it was trembling like a leaf in terror. He had no doubt that if it wasn't as weak as it was it would have definitely ripped him apart by now in self-defense.

It seemed that almost everything in this wood that had been considered mysterious the men had been automatically deemed dangerous. And certainly, this wolf was dangerous in its own right, but, Roy mused, perhaps they didn't need to react to everything they didn't know by shooting it.

By the time he had gotten back to the encampment it the sun had set, making traveling through to woods harder than ever. The ground, while it had been semi-thawed in the sun, had hardened again into unforgivable ice, and the weight of the wolf's now unconscious dead weight was enough to make Roy feel like his arms would fall off.

He knew that the men wouldn't react well to him bringing back a wolf with the intent to nurse it back to life. Instinctively he waited until most of the men had slipped to bed and when the Kain - who was guarding the front gate - had nodded off. As he slipped back inside his tent he placed the wolf down on a matt near the fireplace and he took three steps back too look at it. Why had he saved it? It was going to die always, probably in a few hours. Already it was despondent and limp. Because, he thought to himself, it was beautiful. Roy had a knack for coveting beautiful things, and well, if it died it died and they could use its fur and eat its meat. Roy winced a little at the thought of it, he hoped it didn't die. There was something in its eyes that was intriguing. It was much too intelligent. Perhaps he had just been making it up, but from the ten seconds they had had direct eye contact Roy could have sworn that he had found something special, unnatural. Something far more smart than a normal animal. The eyes were the ones that haunted his every steps for the last month and a half.

Roy was certain this was his tormentor, the thing that he had felt following him in the woods. If it were true, this wolf had had plenty of opportunity to kill him by now. But it hadn't. Why hadn't it attacked him when he had been alone and vulnerable? Roy had gotten the sense that whatever shadowed him was more curious about him than anything else, following him to learn more about him. It hadn't been a pleasant feeling to know you were constantly watched by calculating eyes. Especially now that Roy was certain the thing that had been ghosting along behind him had been a wolf.

So he felt a certain companionship with it, after all it they had had a long relationship already. One of him stumbling around in the forest and it watching him. Probably in amusement Roy thought to himself as he took apart the makeshift bandage to get a better look at the wound.

"Havoc's a terrible shot." He mumbled to himself.

Almost right after he said it the echoing sounds of the first howl shot up through the air. No doubt Kain was awake now, and had his gun shakily trained to shoot anything that moved outside of the wall. He had gotten back just in time. As soon as the wolves started their nightly lullaby most of the men were awake and uptight. Roy peeked out of his tent for a moment before fastening it shut - a sign that he had returned safety from the woods and no- he didn't want to be bothered.

"Alright, pup. Time to get this bullet out." He whispered to himself, bringing some water to a boil as he got out his medical kit. He had little training in healing people, even less to none in canine anatomy. But a bullet wound was a bullet wound. Step one, remove the bullet.

He was glad that the wolf was almost dead at the point, unable to fight him, as he heated up the tweezers and the scalpel and began to pry into the wolf's skin to find the shrapnel. It didn't take very long, it had knocked part of the shoulder bone which had stopped it from tearing further into the animal. The wolf had given no sign of life, even as Roy stitched him up and re-bandaged him.

"There you go." Roy stated, aware he was talking to a dog at this point, "Now we'll see if you last the night."

Despite his attempts to remain awake, Roy fell asleep sometime during the night. He woke with a jolt when there was a sharp noise outside of his tent.

"Roy?" Hughes' voice asked, "You up yet?"

"Fuck." He mumbled to himself, instantly looking at the post where the wolf had battled for its life most of the night. He was almost certain it would have vanished, disappeared into the mist like a ghost. The wolf had a feeling of unreality about it and Roy wouldn't be surprised if it was magical or something. But no, it was still there, in the same position he had last seen it during the night. From the look of its breath it was alive, and its breathing was stronger and deeper than it had been. He had made it, Roy smiled, mentally patting himself on the back for his impromptu surgery skills, before he frowned. Now what the fuck was he going to do when the wolf healed completely, when it was strong enough to tear him apart. He swallowed, suddenly doubting himself.

And Hughes. Hughes certainly wouldn't approve of this behavior.

"One second." He answered gruffly, quickly trying to throw around things in the small tent to try and hide the wolf from plain sight. He kicked a few of the wooden crates from the ship around it. The white creature was still curled into a tiny bundle.

He then paused, seeing he was still dressed from last night, and opened the tent.

"Hughes." He greeted.

The other rewarded him with a suspicious eyebrow raise.

"Do you have the water?"

The water?

"Fuck. No- I." Roy forgot to pick the canteens back up from where the left them. "I saw the clearing where Havoc said he shot the wolf, I followed it thinking we could get some meat out of it."

"And? Did you find it?" Hughes asked, amused. Already thinking he knew the answer. If only he knew that the wolf was currently behind the crate not even three feet from where they were standing.

"No, turned around and came back before an indian put an arrow through my skull. I forgot to grab them. I'll go get them today." He lied, giving a quick wet cough.

Hughes regarded him for a long moment, clearly suspicious but not willing to press it.

"Well, you should try and do something about that cough. Maybe you should lay low for a few days. I'll go get the canteens and the water today. Where did you say you left them?"

Roy felt relief flood through him. Of course, his almost-pnemonia was the perfect excuse to retreat into his tent until the wolf was better and could be released again into the wild.

"By a thin pine, Havoc can show you the clearing."

"Alright." Hughes nodded, peering at him. Roy usually never relented, ignored his own condition to the point where it got grave. Hughes was unsure if he should be happy about how little persuading it took to get Roy to take it easy, or if he should be concerned. It took him a few seconds to consider it before he gave another nod and left through the tent, not after telling Roy to "get some rest."

As soon as he let Roy flung the shipping crate away from the animal and crouched down low next to him. He could almost feel the unnatural heat radiating off of its small form. It was wracked with fever. He frowned. Had he been home he would know what kind of plants he could use to help it, but as it was, this land was unnatural and he was completely out of his element. All he could do was crush up what little dried herbs remained from the trip over and try and pour small bits of water down the animals open mouth. After about an hour or so of trying to take care of the dog he turned to himself, and retreated across his quarters to the opposite corner where he regarded the creature as he sipped on broth and pulled out a book.

It was molding on the cover and some of the words were bleeding due to the mist and the wetness that hung around the encampment. He had already read it several times, but, it comforted him in that it was from home.

It was several hours later that the wolf gave its first indication of wakefulness. Its ear twitched.

Roy froze, eyes wide, entranced as it twitched back and forth in a rhythm and shivers started to wrack the creature flowing down its spine. Its tail gave a weak movement and its eyes, heavy and lidded, opened only half way. They weren't as clear as before, the fever having clouded them over. He doubted the wolf could see at all at this point, but as soon as it reanimated, its eyes fell again and it slept.

Slept for two more days. In which Roy left it alone for hours at a time, convinced it was still too weak to wander out of the tent. Roy went back to his usual business, but still allowed others to believe he was laying low due to his cold. It was a pretty ugly cough, and it was definitely getting worse, but the wolf was more of an addiction now. Something he could take care of, something he had actually succeeded in nursing back to life.

It was the end of the second day that Roy woke up from a dream, startled, and laid there for a long time, listening to the howling from outside before he sighed, turning over and pulling the wet blanket closer around himself. He was about to go back to sleep when he caught an animalistic glimmer from the opposite corner of the room and he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, feeling the very familiar feeling of being watched. He froze, unsure if sudden movements were dangerous as he stared across at the newly awakened wolf.

It's head was up, its ears rolled forward and its eyes giving him undivided, and very uncomfortable, attention. As another howl belted from beyond the encampment its head tilted as if it was listening to its brothers. The rest of its body was still and its breathing wasn't coming out in weak pants, but rather long deep healthy gusts.

Roy knew this was going to happen, he was suddenly extremely afraid.

Almost as if the animal could smell it, its ears flicked for a moment and it lowered its head again, back down against two front paws. Roy took that as a sign it wasn't going to attack him, not yet. He slowly and purposefully got out of his bed and grabbed a bit of the meat leftovers from yesterday that he had hoarded. The intestines and the weird parts of the deer they had felled that no one really wanted to eat unless truly starved, which they were nearing but hadn't quite gotten to yet. He flung it towards the wolf and watched as it sniffed it for a long moment. Obviously it's appetite was gone, reduced from fever. It stared at the meat disinterestedly for a long moment until Roy was certain it wouldn't eat it before suddenly it snapped forward and ripped part of it off the ground with such violence that Roy felt himself automatically retreat back against the wall, his heart hammering in his chest.

Just as quickly as the creature had flashed all of its terribly sharp incisors, it was docile again. Licking the leftovers and blood off of its muzzle it turned its gaze again, expectantly, to Roy as if _that's it? That's all you've got?_

Roy crouched down and slowly pulled out some water from a canteen, pushing the bowl over to the wolf until it got to the point where he was too afraid to get any closer. The white animal was still, watching him almost in amusement. There was a twinkling in his eyes of mirth. Roy shook his head slightly at himself, he was being dramatic. Animals didn't feel emotions nearly as much as humans. He wondered when he had first started attributing human emotions to this creature, knowing it was dangerous.

It sat there, looking at the water for a long moment before attempting to drag its still healing body over towards it. Roy could see the fresh blood oozing slowly out of the bandage. At least it wasn't as infected as it had been before, but he knew that he was going to have to tend to the stitches soon. He bit his lip, not sure if getting anywhere near this wild animal was a good idea.

The creature paused, plopping its head down in exhaustion, a few feet from the water. Its eyes lolled closed for a long moment and it gave a sad huff. Its limbs were shaking from the effort of simply dragging itself a few feet. Roy got up slowly and pushed the bowl all the way up to its muzzle, holding his breathe. But the expectant chewing of teeth on his arm didn't happen. Instead the wolf gazed up at him and began to lap at the water in a frenzy, parched. In some part of its dog-brain Roy knew that it had connected food to him. Food and water and life. And, unintentionally Roy had trained it in however small of a degree to not be as wary of him as before.

Roy offered up a bit of bread, not knowing if wolves were into that sort of thing. The dog merely sniffed at it and turned away disinterested.

He then, against his better judgement, reached his hand out to the other.

All of his instincts were screaming at him to run. This creature oozed danger and an aura of mystery that he could not explain. It was a predator, and from the look of its muscles being injured hadn't atrophied them much. But, even as his hand began to shake with fear the wolf merely peered at him through the darkness and pressed its dry hot nose to the tip of his middle finger. Roy could feel the hot breath of it gusting across his palm as he waited. The creature seemed to be sizing him up, giving him a few whiffs before it pulled away leaving him un-mauled for the time being, and went back to lapping up the water with the same intensity as before until the bowl was empty. And even then it clicked it until it was bone-dry.

Roy let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, getting more water and grabbing some medical supplies. How exactly this would play out he didn't know, but the bandages needed to be changed and the wound needed to be tended to.

He hoped the water and the last bit of meat would distract the wolf while he worked. But, as he took apart the bandage slowly, trying to stay as far to the right as possible away from the wolf's head, it watched him with beetle-like black eyes. The confusing mix of color in them - a bronze-like tawny - had all but disappeared in the darkness and its black pupils had expanded and swallowed it up so only a thin glowing ring of almost molten metal was visible. Its gaze was so intense, so _knowing._

Roy moved slowly as he took the bandage off and after a long moment the wolf seemed to deem it okay because he turned back to lapping up more water as Roy poked around the wound.

For about three more days the wolf and him built up a strange trust. Roy was no longer as afraid of the being as he had been before. The wild dog had regained its ability to walk, which - at first had terrified Roy - but it had merely circled the tent, sniffing wildly at all his belongings as if committing the smells to memory before it had settled back down in its corner. It seemed to understand the need for space, that this corner was his, and the opposite corner was Roy's and for right now that wasn't to be breached.

Roy started to leave and go about his business, coming back thinking he would find the wolf gone, only to see it licking absently at the wound or sniffing through his belongings for food.

It was on the fifth night that he whistled softly, holding up a bit of meat. And the wolf had actually come to him, sat down next to him. Sitting they were almost equal in height. Its enormous head and eyes had peered into him and Roy was certain this creature was different than any normal wolf. Any normal wolf would have attacked him by now, or left. He had scratched it on the ear, watching in amusement as its eyes drooped in pleasure and it ducked its head down, laying, with the bulk of its body in Roy's lap. The feeling was so profound Roy didn't know what to do and he sat like that with the wolf for hours through the night - afraid if he should move the moment would be ruined.

"I'm glad you didn't die." Roy whispered to the creature, watching as its ears flicked back and forth, twitching as he scratched the fur around them. "Its nice to have an ally here."

He woke, not noticing when he had fallen asleep, around midnight. The wolf's head was still heavy against his leg which had now fallen asleep, however its body was stiff. Roy frowned, unsure of what had made the dog so tense before he heard the howls - louder than ever before - outside the gates. He peered down at his new companion and watched as it slowly raised its head up, eyes bright, ears perked.

"Is it time for you to go?" He asked it softly, knowing deep down in his heart it was time to say goodbye.

The wolf merely turned to look at him for a long moment before pulling itself upright, and when Roy opened the flap of his tent the small white wolf left, at first in a slow trot, and then in a quick blur towards the edge of the encampment. Roy should have felt concerned that it would get caught, shot again, but for some reason he knew that it would be fine. His heart was heavy as he returned back to the tent.

The wolf had never even looked back.


End file.
